


pretty boy // phan au

by teeya



Category: Phan, dan and phil
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Phan - Freeform, Phandom - Freeform, danandphil - Freeform, danhowell, phillester, yay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 17:16:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 11,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8410006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teeya/pseuds/teeya
Summary: Dan Howell sees the same boy everyday. It's simply becoming routine to hop on the bus home and see the boy in the ninth row down from the front, eyes on his computer screen and and foot tapping to his music.  But he's never taken any real notice of him.  Until one day he does and he can't help but think...  ❝what a pretty boy❞





	1. Chapter 1

{ one - acknowledge }

[ dan howell ]

 

I'd seen him before. Plenty of times before. He catches the same bus as me home, but I've never acknowledged him. I've never noticed the way his eyes sparkled constantly or how the glowing light from his computer screen made his hair shimmer. I've never realised how his pale skin contrasted so deeply with the oncoming night outside or how he unknowingly taps his foot to the beat of his music in his ears. And worst of all, I've never seen the beautiful little smile that seemed constantly planted on his face. 

What a pretty boy, I thought simply. And it was the plain truth too. He was pretty, beautiful, innocent, elegant, hot, adorable and amazing all rolled into one. His appearance alone was the essence of happiness. He was like all the happy little planets in the universe.

I hadn't spoke once to him and look at the thoughts in my head. I was going insane. If he could read my mind and see the way I was staring at him, he'd probably report me to an insane asylum.

I wanted to know his name. I wanted to know what he liked. I wanted to know what his favourite starbucks drink was. I wanted to know every little thing about him. I was curious. I was also going completely crazy over a stranger. 

Beside him, his phone buzzed interrupting the music in his headphones and he picked it up, eyes skimming over the message. He smiled, his tongue poking out at the side. And damn, was it the most gorgeous smile I'd ever seen. I watched as he swiftly typed a message in return with that smile still on his face and I couldn't help but feel jealous of the person he was messaging. That stranger on the other end of the phone that had this boy in their life. 

"Stop it," I hissed to myself, turning around to face the front of the bus once more and divert my eyes to outside. I refused to look back those couple of rows again to the boy in the seat. I watched as the buildings outside flashed past and the streetlights slowly came to life to conquer the night. But no matter what I did, the boy was still overtaking my thoughts.

Without even turning around I could easily remember what he was wearing. A plain white collared shirt with a continuous pattern of small, what seemed to be, succulents, a simple pair of black jeans and a pair of white converse scribbled over with black sharpie. Minimalistic and casual yet elegant all at once.

I looked down at my midnight sweater and fading black jeans with a sigh. I felt too dull to be in the same space as him. This boy, this pretty boy, was full of colour and I was just this blank, starless sky. It wasn't that I was depressed or unhappy with my life, I just preferred to be invisible. I guess after all this time black had sort of become my happy colour, but against bright boy, it just seemed sad.

The bus came to a halt and the driver yelled out where we had stopped. I jumped out of my seat, slinging my bag over one shoulder and hurrying out of the bus without another glance at the pretty boy in the ninth row from the front.


	2. two

{ two - behind }

[ dan howell ]

 

He was right behind me. He was sitting in the seat right behind me. He is sitting in the seat right behind me. He is right behind me. The pretty boy, the one I'd found myself fantasising about  just yesterday, was right behind me. And it was freaking me out.

I could hear him. His small sighs every so often. The tapping of the keyboard as he typed. The small shuffles as he repositioned himself in the seat. He was so close. We were so close.

If only I didn't finish work early, then I wouldn't have caught the earlier bus and all the seats wouldn't have been taken. And surprise, the only spare ones were either next to people who looked like they would maul you, one in front of pretty boy or one right next to him. I, of course, like the anti-social freak I am avoided the seat next to him completely (even though my heart begged me to sit there) and sat right in front of him.

And it was killing me.

For all I wanted, I could've turned around right now and looked at his beautiful face up close. I could've seen the shimmering stars that seemed to sparkle constantly in his eyes. I could've pulled his hands into my own and held them.

But I didn't do any of those things. For starters, I'm a complete stranger to him and so is him to me. And anyway, it's not like something like that would happen anyway. 

He's just the happy boy that wears plant themed shirts and I see on the bus everyday while I'm just the plain, black canvas, devoid of colour. I might be the night sky with no stars. I might be the emptiness people hate. I might be the darkness that children are scared of. But he, this pretty boy that's making my brain do crazy things despite the fact that we've had no conversations, is a canvas splattered with random colours, so crazy and intense that's it's beautiful. He might be the special way the clouds seem to grin after its been raining for so long. He might be the warmth of a freshly made hot chocolate on a chilly morning. He might be carefully unfolding petals of a flower when spring comes around. He might be everything. No, he is everything. 

I felt blood in my mouth. I had been biting on my lip. These thought, these thoughts, these pesky thoughts. They were slowly torturing me. I had never talked once to this boy but felt I had known him my whole life. I wanted to know his whole life.

God, I'm such a creep.


	3. three

{ three - glance }

[ dan howell ]

 

 

I don't know what was worse. Him sitting directly behind me yesterday or the fact that his eyes caught mine for a split second. Pretty boy, pretty, pretty boy, had looked up for only a moment and his eyes landed directly on mine. Those eyes that held the world and all its blue in them looked at my own.

I wanted to look back at him again. I want to look behind me to the ninth row where he always sits. I want to see the heaven in his glimmering blue eyes. I want to see him fix his fringe unknowingly. I wanted to look at him for god sakes, but I'm so damn awkward and I'd end up staring at him.

I was on the bus at the usual time again; 6:20pm, like usual. Only a few people were left on the bus, the majority of them going home after a long day of work. 

I looked out the window and my reflection and the outside world greeted me. A sigh escaped my lips. I couldn't keep having it these kinds of thoughts. A stranger was all he was and all he'd ever be to me. All we'd ever be is strangers that got home on the same bus. This whole pretty boy fiasco isn't healthy. Not once have we exchanged words, let alone have a fully fledged conversation and already I was dreaming about him at night. Damn, I was going to bed earlier than usual because I enjoyed the dreams about him.

Those eyes. Again. They wouldn't get out of my head. Those eyes. Full of laughter, happiness, memories and joy. Things about him that I'd never hear or learn about. I was so hopeless. 

It was only a glance. It meant nothing. He probably didn't even mean to look at me. It was probably an accident. He probably feels awkward now, knowing that he looked at a stranger that happened to be looking at him from the front of the bus.

It was only a glance. A simple look. A few seconds in which I got to look at his eyes nine rows away from him. It was the most I'd ever seen of them, and from what I could tell, they were very, very pretty. 

It was only a glance. A glance. A petty little thing that meant nothing to him but everything to me. A glance. It could mean so many things. It could mean we're soul mates. It could mean we're getting married. It could mean I'm going to kiss him under the stars. It could mean absolutely anything in the world.

It could also mean nothing at all.

Because it was just a glance.


	4. four

{ four - euphoria }

[ dan howell ]

 

 

Perhaps it wasn't just a glance. Perhaps it was something much more than that. Perhaps it was the beginning of something beautiful. Something that I'd never been a part of before. Something that send my heart spiralling out of control and shooting up into the sky to mingle with the stars. Perhaps that glance did send my heart up to waltz in the sky and that's where fate led me to the heart of pretty boy that sat in the sky among the stars too.

Perhaps it was the very reason why I decided, with a new burst of confidence, to sit right next to pretty boy. Right next to him. In the seat right next to him. Not in front of him, not behind him and definitely not nine rows in front of him were I've been staring at him.

To be stereotypical, it was as if a million new doors and opportunities just opened up and I could take any path. My life felt brighter sitting here next to pretty boy. Cheesy thoughts. 

My heart was bouncing around my rib cage and was probably doing some intricate salsa up in the sky with the sparkling stars looking onward. I had to literally stop myself from smiling and staring at him.

He was so damn pretty. No, he was and definitely is so damn pretty. Not even damn pretty, he is fucking pretty and that doesn't even justify him enough.

Pretty boy, happy boy, starry boy, sky boy, blue boy, beautiful boy, delicate boy. He was all the seasons rolled into one.

I chewed the inside of my lip subconsciously. I had been so awkward asking if I could sit here.

"A-are you, I mean is anyone, you know, well, uhm... is-" I couldn't form a proper sentence. The bus rolled on slowly, the doors sliding shut and sealing us in until the next stop. The last of the passengers had gotten off at that stop. It was just us.

"Sitting here? No. You're free to sit here," he gave me a smile and shuffled over. He smiled. He smiled at me. The blank, boring, empty nothingness was smiled at by Mr. Rainbow over here.

And that was when my heart soared higher than I could ever reach. 

So, in the seat next to him, my leg bobbing up and down nervously was the only way I could contain the scream boiling up. I was sitting next to, and I had talked to pretty boy.

His voice. Don't even get me started on that candy coated sweet heavenly sound that descended directly from the clouds floating around outside. His voice was gorgeous. It was.. everything. Not to be cheesy, like I already was, but it gave me another reason to encourage my already overgrowing and ever-growing crush on pretty boy.

Our elbows brushed as the bus turned a corner. Our shoulders bumped each other as we turned another. My arm touched his and electricity shot through my veins. I was going insane.

Poetic thoughts and dreamy ideas aside, I couldn't deny the fact that I was falling head first into love with pretty boy. The boy that held oceans, skies lakes and rivers in his eyes. The boy that spoke softly and kindly, yet with a beautiful sense of knowing and happiness. The boy that wore unique clothes in public without feeling ashamed.

I spoke barely ten words to him, but it was enough for me. My heart continued running around the planets and sending glimmering stars tangled about, making a mess of the constellations. A conversation and a seat next to him was all my heart needed to go completely an utterly insane.

This is euphoria. This is beauty. This is insanity.

\---

(A/N) I just wanted to say a big thank you everyone who have added this story to their reading lists and voted for it! it really, truly means so much to me


	5. five

{ five - past }

[ dan howell ]

 

 

My parents always said I was more of an introvert. I preferred the company of myself rather than others and would gladly choose to stay inside over going out. That I was a shy kid that didn't like or really know how to make a proper friend. Yeah, I had people I hung around and stuff, but they never really meant anything to me.

My dad also suspected I was gay from the beginning. I think I was the fact that like any normal teenage, hormonally high boy, I wasn't fantasising about girls, or anyone for that matter. The rest was simple parental intuition. My mum on the other hand, came from an extremely religious family, so thinking I was gay was never a thought that crossed her mind. 

It was hard telling them. And when I did I was freaking out. I didn't know what to say or how to say it. I didn't know if I should be upfront or subtle. But what I was most afraid of was whether or not mum would kick me out because of her homophobia.

My dad was set on trying to make my mum believe that I couldn't help it that I loved boys instead of girls. He even went so far to say that I was 'this way' because God wanted me to be unique. He said Adam and Eve may have set the laws of love or something like that (he never read the bible so he was saying this off the top of his head) but slowly people changed. We changed. Slowly, mum pulled through, and realised that maybe it wasn't that bad. But that was a lie. She was just leading us up to the falling apart of our family. Because then the drinking came.

She drank. Day and night. Over and over. She was ruining herself inside and out. She was drinking to forget what I had said and what 'I was'. She didn't want a freak of a son that went against everything she knew. Her hair became a birds nest, she rarely showered, dark circles rounded her eyes like an attempt at makeup, her lips were constantly chapped, she became skinnier and skinner by the week, her clothes hung limply from her body, she didn't sleep in her bedroom anymore and a bottle was constantly attached to her hand. 

Sometimes my mum would be half-sober and smile at me in a way that only reminded me of before I said I was gay. But it didn't mean anything. It was a simple in the moment drunk kind of smile. The kind of smile that you give everyone when you've got a rush. And mum's rush was alcohol and the forgetting of what was wrong with me.

Our house became a wreck, bottles strewn everywhere, holes in the walls where mum had punched through, a rotten smell overtaking the living room that was never cleaned, the television constantly playing like an annoying buzz and filling the grim house with bright all too cheery commercials, the carpets were covered in stains, the kitchen was a pigsty and the only retreat from it all was outside the house (where even there you could smell the stench inside and the gardens were dying) or my room.

So that's where I stayed; in my room and alone. Slowly, as the bill and tax papers piled up on the kitchen cupboard or anywhere in general. My room became the place away from debt and my alcoholic mother that was trying to forget me. My room became my safe place and the only comfort I knew. Like mum, I was too, trying to forget, but instead of losing myself in drink, I lost myself in emptiness and my own thoughts.

I think that's why I became so comfortable in tight spaces and being alone. I had gotten used to the abandonment and loneliness. I enjoyed it too, being able to be left to my own thoughts and dreams with no interruption.

I think that's why instead of driving home I enjoy taking the bus. I get to look on at other people's lives. I get to see them absorbed within their own thoughts like me. I see hopeless and I see hopeful. And it's beautiful.

Maybe it's because of my past that I've fallen so easily in love with pretty boy. I've been left alone to my thoughts and own life for so long that when I find something I like, I hold onto it like its the last string keeping me alive. Sometimes, maybe pretty boy is the last thing I can hold onto, even if he doesn't get on the same bus the next day or the day after that. Maybe he's the last thing keeping me here.

I look at him next to me. I was in my usual seat, but the bus was packed full tonight, and someone had stolen his usual spot. And out of the remaining seats he chose the one next to me.

'I'm so hopelessly in love with you and you'll never know how much I actually need to hold onto you.' I thought helplessly. Barely two conversations and twice sitting next to each other and pretty boy had already become my obsession and the string keeping me tied to earth so I didn't float up too far into the stars.

He's my lifeline and my escape. And I don't even know his name. 

\---

(A/N) bit of a deeper chapter and insight on dans past. a tad sad. I'm sorry!! thank you all again for the support on this book. it's seriously amazing and I can't thank you enough!


	6. six

{ six - late }

[ dan howell ]

I was sprinting, for god sake. I was fucking sprinting for my life, every muscle in my body burning and probably tearing. Because I had missed the bus and it wasn't going to pull over for me any time soon. I had missed the bus. The only time of the day in which I was able to see pretty boy and be reminded why I couldn't float up too far into space.

I had missed the bus. The bus was slowly ambling off into the distance like in a cheesy american high school story in which the clumsy guy and/or girl misses the bus. The bus was leaving me behind. I was at the bus stop alone. Pretty boy was on the bus I had just missed.

I sighed. It was all I could really do. Now how was I supposed to get home? I'd failed my drivers test so I didn't have a car or a licence and I don't have any money on me to get a taxi home. I wasn't gain to hitchhike with a stranger. I could easily walk home. But instead, I sat down on the unhygienic bus stop seat and prepared myself for the wait till the next bus came along.

A few strangers past, most of them staring down at their phones and avoiding any human contact. A group of girls skipped past giggling, followed close behind by a couple of teenage boys the same age. Obviously ready for a night out. It was Friday, after all.

"You missed the bus too?" I looked up only to find the devil himself standing right in front of me; pretty boy. Today he was wearing a simple white shirt with the words 'Plants are friends' scribbled messily on with a dark green sharpie and matching forest green jeans that only he could pull off, along with his usual quote covered converse.

I nodded, biting my bottom lip as he sat next to me, far too close for strangers. He hummed almost silently, a classic piece that I faintly remembered playing when I was younger. I looked down at his shoes and noticed his mismatched space socks peeking just over his shoes. A small smile crept onto my face as I deciphered some of the words on his converse. Things like 'remember to give pj music usb' and 'okay? okay.' covered them. Some things were random crap like reminders, some were movie and book quotes and then there were a couple that I didn't really understand. Like 'front row' and '6:20pm bussssss'.

"Uhm, well hey, I could get my friend to pick us up if you'd like. His name is Pj. He's a pretty chill person, you'd like him." He nudged me in my side to get my attention. He was smiling at me, and  that almost made me say yes then and there. A car ride with me, pretty boy and pj (that guy pretty boy was supposed to give a usb to) sounded perfect to me.

Except, they're both strangers. They could easily kill me. Pretty boy and pj boy may as well be murderers. If so, pretty boy was a damn gorgeous murderer.

He must've noticed my expression and added, "And no, we won't kill you or rape you or torture you or whatever you were thinking we could possibly do. Promise." He said it with such sincerity and confidence, like he'd asked strangers to hop in a car with him and his friend a million times before.

"Better home late than never," I smiled back at him and watched him grin back at him, his eyes crinkling at the sides and sparkling in the artificial glowing street lights.

\---

(A/N) the amount of views on this book is overwhelming. you're all amazing and thank you so, so much. just a friendly reminded to you all, because sometimes everyone needs a compliment, I may not know you or what you look like, but I can guarantee that you are 100% an amazing person and you are perfect. <3


	7. seven

{ seven - car rides and names }

[ dan howell]

 

"Pj Liguori. Your Chauffeur for tonight!" he held out his hand professionally and before I could shake it pretty boy tackled Pj into a bear hug, almost making him fall to the ground.

"Philly!" Pj hugged pretty boy lightly before dusting himself off, "It's been, what? A few hours since we've seen each other, why such the welcome?" The two laughed. I stood awkwardly to the side. Pretty boy whispered something to Pj, his eyes glimmering with the faintest hint of mischief. Pj giggled. They both giggled.

I almost thought they were going to kiss. Right there in front of me. They looked like they could've kissed. They sure as hell probably would've if I wasn't there. Pretty boy approached me, but over his shoulder, I could still see Pj staring at him. I felt my stomach churn.

"C'mon," Pretty boy, no, Philly, smiled and grabbed my hand pulling me away from the bus stop and over to the ageing white Mazda that Pj owned. Philly. That's his name. Not pretty boy, but Philly. His hand was warm in my own, pale and warm and only the slightest bit bigger than mine. I wanted to entwine my fingers with his to see the stark contrast between the two of us. I didn't want my hand to be balled up awkwardly, my fingers cramped and his hand covering my own like a weird umbrella. But I want to hold his hand, and not like this.

"So how long have you known Mr. Philip Lester over here? Hmm?" questioned Pj once we were finally in the car and heading over to my apartment. So his name wasn't Philly. It was Philip. Philip Lester. Phil.

"We just sit next to each other occasionally on the bus," Phil interrupted, smiling at me through the rear-view mirror. I smiled back. How could you not smile back at Philip Lester?

"And that's it?" Pj said, eyeing Phil from the side as we came to a stop at the lights.

"Uh, yep." I tapped my foot awkwardly. The tension in the air was getting too much. So Phil turned on the radio and we were blasted with popular pop songs.

Phil Lester, Pj Liguori and Dan Howell, all squished into a Mazda in dear need of a paint job. The two in front of me were whispering, Pj obviously annoyed with Phil and Phil desperately trying to stop it.

Pj turned down another street and my apartment block came into view. An ugly, supposedly antique and traditional english house, that really was just a crappy apartment building made in the past couple of years and made to look like it was built in 1975. I sighed, telling Pj to pull up and waving the two goodbye. I closed the car door behind me, giving Phil a small smile and walked over to apartment entrance. I heard Pj's voice yelling at Phil a little, but I didn't turn around. They had their own problems I suppose.

My keys jangled as I finally got the door unlocked and behind me I heard Pj's shitty car drive down the street, music blaring and everything.

"Hey, I'm sorry about that. Uhh, you don't mind if I come in, do you? Pj and I, we have our differences.." Pretty boy, no, Phil, said from behind me, a hand on my shoulder and turning me around.

I grinned at him. I had finally got pretty boy in my house, "Of course you can."

\---

(A/N) DOUBLE UPDATE! :D


	8. eight

{ eight - home }

[ dan howell ]

 

A stranger happened to be in my house, but I didn't care. Because this stranger was pretty boy. This stranger was Phil Lester. Phillip Lester. My latest obsession and closest stranger was standing in my house, well my shabby so-called vintage flat, with a smile that made his eyes sparkle. 

"Uh, welcome home?" I tried, rubbing the back of my neck with my sweaty palm and trying not to let the blood rush to my cheeks.

He didn't say anything, just kept smiling and walked into the living room. He fixed his fringe absentmindedly and looked around. By the time we got to my room I was chewing on the inside of my cheek like gum I was that damn nervous.

The thing was, my room was my getaway and that meant it was for me only. My room where I could have it anyway I wanted and no one could judge me. Because no one could enter without me allowing it. And I was letting pretty boy twist open that door handle right now.

"This is.. my room." I say as the door swung open. It seemed like such a big deal to me. No, it was such a big deal.

My room is embarrassing. Every wall is painted black, normal, yes, but it's so damn childish for a grown man to have a glow in the fucking dark galaxy mural that covered every single wall in the damn room. Even the fucking god damn roof was space. My bed was a mess of white sheets (the white goes against my black aesthetic, but for the room it matches perfectly. Plus, those sheets are the comfiest bloody things ever.) Near the window was my old piano with sheet music scattered around and piled in the corner like a tornado of scores, notes and key signatures had come rushing towards it. My floor was a dark grey carpet and that was it.

Childish as heck and nothing a boy aged 22 should have.

"This is.." Phil started and I almost blocked my ears as he walked to the centre of the room, spinning in a small circle and taking in the walls around him. His eyes glimmered. I tasted blood in my mouth.

"It's beautiful." he stopped spinning to look at me with a small smile on his face. He could never stop smiling, could he? Never, ever. Ever, ever. That smile made freaking butterflies explode in my chest every time. Next time he smiles at me I'll have a damn heart attack.

I felt myself relax a little. He liked it. He thought it was beautiful. I loved it. I loved him standing in my room looking at my silly walls and saying it was beautiful. The walls weren't beautiful, he was beautiful and he couldn't realise how goddamn beautiful he really was. He made freaking strangers stare at him. 

I had pretty boy in my house. In my home. He's standing in front of me, eyes skimming over the walls. He was in my room dammit. And I wanted to kiss him then and there. Under the stars. Among the galaxy world I had created. I wanted to hold him. I wanted to smile with him.

But I couldn't. He had Pj. But Pj was angry with him... But he has Pj. And he's a stranger. And I'm totally in love with him. And I could totally kiss him.

But of course I didn't. I don't kiss people and people don't kiss me. Especially people like Phil Lester.


	9. nine

{ nine - see you later }

[ dan howell ]

We ordered pizza. Phil said he could get a taxi home. I wish I could drive. I would've loved driving with him. Music playing in the background while we passed conversation back and forth, Phil smiling at me and me smiling back. The two of us tapping and singing along occasionally to the music. But I can't drive.

It was 7:20pm by the time Phil ended up leaving. It ended with a smile and a simple "see you later". That's all we do when we don't speak. Smile at each other. Phil has a gorgeous smile and you can't help but grin back. His eyes shimmer when he smiles and its pretty. All of Phil just sparkles. He's like the New Years fireworks. He's like a flickering fire. He's like the first snowflake of winter.

I wanted Phil to stay. He said he had to go. I still wanted to kiss him. The pizza didn't distract me from his lips. It just brought more attention to them. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to kiss him from the day I first actually noticed him. Which sounds stupid.

If I told anyone, they'd think I was a freak. 'Love at first sight? Yeah right, you disney dream dickhead. Get a life and get out of fairyland you piece of shit.' They'd say something like that. This is why I don't have friends. Because I'd be too scared of what they thought.

My phone buzzed beside me. I was laying in bed and staring up at the stars on the ceiling. They were glowing. My phone buzzed again. I wish it was Phil. I didn't have his number though. Phil... I wasn't even calling him pretty boy anymore. Pretty Phil. Pretty little Philly. It had a nice ring to it. But god, if he knew the names I gave him.

I turned my phone on silent and chucked it at the end of the bed, further away than before. It continued to light up. It was probably dad, texting me to make sure I got through the day alright and giving me another daily mum update. He always let me know how she was doing. He stayed with her, after everything. 

She's still drinking away her misery. She can't forget. It's getting worse too. She's tried to kill herself. She screams and screams. "The drink isn't working! It's not making me forget!" She yells, throwing things, according to dad. She's in the hospital again tonight. I try to forget her too, but not the way she does.

I wish pretty Phil was still here. I could talk to him. Talk to someone that didn't know my past. Someone that didn't know my mum or my dad or the fact that I was gay. Someone I was smiling constantly at. Someone I couldn't let go of. Someone that made me happy. Phil. He was all these things. He was helping me and he didn't even realise it.

I wish Phil was still here. I always wish Phil was here.


	10. ten

{ ten - see you later }

[ phil lester ]

I didn't want to go. I didn't generally like goodbyes, even if I knew I was going to see the person the next day. Goodbyes always meant the finishing of something, and I don't usually want something to end. Goodbyes are sometimes sad and sometimes they're happy and sometimes they're neutral. Sometimes after the goodbye you never speak again, and I don't generally like losing people. I don't think any person likes losing someone.

Plus, Dan was overly happy and I loved it when he was like that. He always seemed so grim on the bus. Almost as if he was moping. I didn't like it when he was like that. He seemed sad and no one deserved to be sad. Especially not Dan Howell.

He was too special to be sad. He was too elegant to be sad. He was too different and himself and just a simply amazing human being to be sad. I liked making him smile. His eyes lit up like the painted galaxies in his room when he smiled. It was like a million fireflies lit up in his chocolate eyes all at once. And when he smiled, his dimples showed. And who couldn't love his dimples?

I left with a smile and a "see you later". I didn't like that. It was so bland and normal. I'd read too many novels where one of them says those three words and never see's them again. It especially happens in those suspense novels. They say it and next thing you know, bam, one of them is dead. That or in love stories where its just depressing and its first love and first love never really ends up very well, so they end on "see you later" and never talk again.

See why I don't like goodbyes? They're tied into so much sadness.

I liked Dan. It was nice to hang out with him for once. He was this mystery to me. A puzzle. A whole separate piece of the world that no one had really ever understood and it was my turn to try and figure him out. But not just that, I enjoy his company. He's funny, sweet, clumsy, strange and just a nice person to be around.

I almost made the taxi driver turn around. I want to go back. I want to see him again. See him smile some more. I want to sit next to him and talk about nothing like we just did. I want to sit there and look at him some more. 

Goddammit, Dan Howell. You're all that's been in my brain lately. Why? Why won't you get out of my thoughts you chocolate, hazel eyed boy?


	11. eleven

{ eleven - lips } 

[dan howell]

Phil Lester had nice looking lips and no one could deny that. If anything, today I found myself staring at his lips rather than him in general. There's nothing really special about lips in general, but Phil's made me go absolutely insane.

We were on the bus again, which to me was a disappointment. Usually I'd be tingling with electricity at the thought of sitting next to him on the bus and sharing a few words. But after he came over, it's all I could think about.

His lips were all I could think about.

I could've kissed him in my goddamn room. He was standing right there, his head tilted just the slightest and looking straight at me with that godly smile of his. I could've fucking kissed him then and there and end the emotional trauma he was putting me through. It would've taken a stride to simply reach him.

Everything kept reminding me that I didn't. I had the chance and I threw it away. I can't look at this sky because the stars remind me of my room where I could've kissed him. I can't look at blue eyes because they remind me of him standing in my room where I could've kissed him. I can't look at black because the majority of my room is black and that's where he stood in my room where I should've put my lips on his.

I looked out the window. Night was falling quickly, not bothering to wait for the sunset to finish properly. The sky was a dark purple speckled with dots of orange, but the most of it was navy blue or black. I hated it. Damn it all to hell. Everything fucking reminds me of it. My room and him in my room and the fact that I could've kissed him for god sakes.

I was looking at his lips again. This time he was biting his bottom lip while he typed into his computer, eyebrows drawn together and hair scraping the tips of his eye lashes. He desperately needed a hair cut.

If I really wanted to I could kiss him now. Right now, on the bus, sitting next to each other. It wouldn't be difficult, really. 

But of course I wouldn't. 'Absolutely absurd!' My mother would used to say if I thought weird things. That's what this whole thing between pretty boy and me was. Absolutely absurd.

He was just another crush of mine. Someone I found generally attractive and enjoyed being around. It was just another one of those things.

But it feels like much more to me. I want to kiss him, hold him, cuddle him. I was to press my lips against his cheek when I wake up in the morning. I want to trace patterns on his back while he isn't looking at me. I want to kiss him on the nose like couples do in those cheesy novels. I want to tickle him until he kisses me to stop. 

This is what his lips were doing to me and I haven't even touched them.


	12. twelve

{ twelve - repeat }

[ dan howell ]

 

The urge to kiss Phil Lester, pretty boy, had become overwhelming. It was almost like he was teasing me. The thought that I could've kissed him was already a burden enough and the simple wish to do it was getting hard to ignore.

I'm so damn desperately in love with goddamn pretty boy that I'd forgotten how to even function properly.

At work, he was all that was on my mind. I accidentally bumped into a large stand of records, vintage fucking records, and knocked them all over in the process. All because pretty boy was on my mind and he wouldn't get out of my mind. If I wasn't running the shop, I'd be fired.

The bus was late again, so Phil and I found ourselves sitting on the uncomfortable metal bus seat, waiting for the next to come along.

I didn't question why he didn't just call Pj.

Phil was doing his usual thing, laptop and headphones. I was doing that stalkerish thing, watching him. He was so damn pale he could blend in with the moon if he really wanted to. But then again, he was so pale it was as if he glowed, so he'd probably be more of a star than anything.

He started to hum. Not a classical piece like last time, but something more familiar; muse. He kept getting notes wrong, some too high and others too low. I smiled at him. He always made me smile.

It was practically night now, only a few flecks of orange peeked through the blanket of darkness. I chewed on my bottom lip and subconsciously read the words on his Vans. It had become a habit.

"Hey, look, it's getting dark and I know you have no way of getting home, but we could catch a cab together if you'd like. We can split the pay?" He cracked a smile at me and closed his laptop.

"You know what, let's change that. I'm bored and lonely and kind of want to spend time with you, want to come over to mine?" He kept that smile on his face. The heat rose to my cheeks and I smiled back awkwardly. The smile felt weird on my face. All my smiles had lately. I wasn't used to smiling genuinely, and pretty boy just so happened to draw those smiles out of me.

"Sure." I said, standing up and standing next to pretty boy.

Maybe I'd get another chance to kiss him. Maybe this time I will. Maybe this time I won't have to fantasise about it.

I refuse to let those events repeat themselves.


	13. thirteen

{ thirteen - taxi }

[ dan howell ]

The two of us were sitting in the taxi, Phil desperately searching for his ringing phone in his backpack and me looking outside. It was pitch black, despite the harsh city lights scattering the roads and buildings. 

The stars were bright though. Glowing like molten balls of fire straight from the mouth of a dragon. Except, they were glimmering and shimmering happily, not ferociously.

"Got it!" Phil declared holding up his phone and making the taxi driver jump. I watched him study who called him and noticed the frown on his face.

"Hey.. everything alright?" I asked, reaching out to touch his shoulder reassuringly, when really I just wanted to touch him.

"Yeah, all good." He smiled back at me and shrugged my hand off his shoulder.

My hand screamed with electricity.

Pretty boy sighed and scooched closer to me, fighting the restraints of the seatbelt.

"I like hanging out with you," he whispered, his breath tickling my cheeks. I blushed, the heat reaching the tips of my ears.

I gulped and nodded back to him. He smiled and fixed his fringe before pulling a curly bit of my hair. I blushed again.

"I like your hair when it's curly," he whispered to me. His words didn't register in my brain but they registered in my heart.

"I like your smile too," he added, still whispering and playing with the little curl. My heart spun around me at a million miles an hour. His words were making every inch of my skin tingle with electricity.

I could break into song and dance right now and I guarantee the moon and sun would join in too.

"I like how you wear black," he giggled as he tried to push the curl behind my ear. I'm sure I looked like a tomato at this point. 

It was like the stars and planets had all joined a choir and were singing some melody that just made my heart want to soar and dance everywhere it could. 

"I like all of you in general," he was even closer now and his words even quieter. The taxi was so unclean and smelt of McDonald's, but I didn't care because pretty boy was whispering little things in my ear that made me go insane.

"I like you," he said. I was speechless, my heart beating so fast someone could've thought I had just run a marathon.

He pulled away from me as the taxi came to a stop outside a set of apartments. My heart didn't want to come down from the stars and pretty boy's words were still sending chills from the tip of my nose to the very bottom of my toes.

I fucking hate taxis but now I fucking love them.

\---  
(A/N) bit of a crappier written chapter BUT THANK YOU ALL FOR TWO HUNDRED VIEWS I ALMOST SCREAMED BUT I COULDNT


	14. fourteen

{ fourteen - the sun and the moon }  
[ dan howell ]

"I like your eyes." I blurted out when Phil finally got his apartment door open.

I had to say it. I had to say something. After everything he'd just whispered to me I had to say something. Anything. I could've said anything at all just to relieve myself of the tension building up in my chest but saying I liked his eyes was the only thing I could think of.

"They.. They're like these... These pretty oceans that reflect the moon and stars and they never fail to stop sh- shimmering.." What was I saying? My mouth wasn't even connected to my brain at this point.

Phil had turned a full one-eighty degrees now to face me and I could feel the pink creeping into my face and reaching the tops of my ears.

I wiggled my toes nervously. I always wiggled my toes when I got nervous.

"A- and I think your really pretty in general too! Not that your eyes aren't pretty.. But you're really pretty as a whole and not that any of your features aren't pretty on their own either, all of you is pretty pretty..." I was rambling now. 

"It's kind of like you're the male version of Snow White and, Jesus Christ, Phil Lester, I don't know what I'm saying and I've barely known you but I think you're beautiful and after what you said in the taxi, my heart is beating faster than the heart of every star in the universe right now and I can explain why and I can't explain how I feel and I don't know what I'm even saying, but God dammit you're so pretty and beautiful and you outshine the whole entire world and simply being next to you makes me feel so fucking happy and I love spending every minute with you!" I was out of breath and words. I had said it. I'd finally said everything I'd kept hidden away in a box for the past few weeks. I was too fragile. I couldn't handle this.

I sunk to the floor, hating the way pretty boy was staring at me. He looked at me almost pitifully and I couldn't help but think I saw dying sparkles in his eyes. Light light bulbs flickering in and out of power.

I couldn't. I'd said it and now he was going to hate me forever. He was going to tell me to get out of his house. Tell me to stop yelling about how I think he's pretty. Tell me to stop being such a fucking freak. Tell me that all he thought of me was as a friend.

My eyes burned and my throat hurt. I couldn't. I couldn't. I heaved breaths. Phil was still standing in front of me, motionless like a statue.

I could feel the colour he had given to me over the past weeks seeping out like the hopeless dreams of a child when they become an adult. I was grey again.

Phil Lester was always the sun, and I was always the moon. All that happened was that he momentarily looked at me and I reflected his light. Now it was night again and I wasn't reflecting any of his light anymore. I was the empty nothingness I was before I saw him properly.


	15. fifteen

{ fifteen - how am I supposed to feel? }  
[ phil lester ]

"Dan.." I finally got out, but it came out as a croak rather than anything.

"Dan." I tried again.

He stayed motionless on the ground, his head hung low staring at his hands in his lap. I'd never seen him so helpless.

It's not like what he said was a big deal. But he made it seem like it was. It made him feel weak and helpless and lonely. At least that's how it came across. He made it seem like the world was falling to pieces around him, and maybe it was.

But the thing was, how do I feel? How am I supposed to react to this? How should I feel?

But I didn't know the answers to any of those questions. I didn't know how I felt about Dan Howell, the pretty boy in row four that caught the 6:20pm bus every weekday and pretended like he didn't stare at me. I didn't know how I felt about the boy sobbing on the floor in front of me, the one that never failed to smile when I was talking to him or the one that had a galaxy in his bedroom. I didn't know how to feel about the mysterious puzzle piece Daniel was.

I didn't know. How am I supposed to feel? I ran those sorts of words from him over and over in my head too many times to count over the past few weeks. But what was any of it supposed to mean? And how did it make me feel?

I looked down at him again and shuffled my feet, my bottom lip caught between my teeth. He was crying. I could hear it and see the small tears falling to the floor.

"Dan Howell, your a mess." I whispered, but he didn't look up. I bit my lip harder. That was not the sort of thing you say in this situation!

"A beautiful mess. A mess of constellations and thoughts and dreams and things I can't possibly imagine." I said.

"A mysterious puzzle piece that won't stop interrupting my thoughts each and everyday." I stuffed my hands into my pocket and rocked on my heels.

"And I don't know how I'm supposed to feel, and what those words in the taxi meant, but I want to see where this takes us." His crying had stopped but he hadn't moved a muscle.

"Dan, I'm wording this all wrong. Can you please say something?" I spoke softly, kneeling down and lifting his head up by his chin with two fingers.

"Say something, please." I offered him a small smile. I studied his hazelnut eyes and the tears rolling down his cheeks. I studying the patterns in his hair and the slope of his nose. I studied the outline of his lips and the length of his eyelashes.

"Just... Say something, Howell." I whispered again.

And this time he responded, rubbing tear droplets from his eyes and face before saying four words that made my world shatter around me like his already had.


	16. sixteen

{ sixteen - feelings }  
[ dan howell ]

"We shouldn't feel anything," I whispered back to him and he recoiled, his face a mixture of hurt and surprise.

"We're strangers." I added as an afterthought. It's true. I don't know who pretty boy is. He's just someone that I talk to occasionally. He's just a boy with word scribbled converse and plant themed shirts. He's just a boy that holds oceans and skies in his eyes. He's just a boy. He's just a stranger.

"We shouldn't feel anything.." He repeated my words, his eyes shimmering, but this time not because of the light that usually brightened up a room. Pretty boy, Philip Lester, had tears in his eyes.

He was trying not to cry because of me. Because I said something. Because I've hurt him. The two of us shouldn't share emotions. We're not supposed to feel anything for each other. I'm a troubled boy that hides behind music and galaxies. He's a happy boy that will stop at nothing to make everyone smile. We're not compatible. 

"But.. But that doesn't have to mean anything." He mumbled back, furiously rubbing his eyes with his fingers and his cheeks flushed.

I stood up, sniffling and rubbing the moisture from my own eyes. I shouldn't be here anymore. This shouldn't be happening. This isn't how I imagined any of this to go. This isn't how it was supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to have a mental breakdown in front of him. I wasn't supposed to spill my soul in front of him. I wasn't supposed to say we can't work. I wasn't to say that whatever we had was bullshit. I wasn't supposed to make Phil cry.

Everything had gone the opposite of what my mind had readied to happen. My fragile brain wasn't expecting this.

"I should go." I said simply, my voice still hoarse from the mini cry-fest that happened. 

"No." Phil replied harshly and standing with a sudden jolt. I always forgot how tall he is, especially when I find myself look up slightly to see his eyes.

"No." He repeated as I reached for he door handle. He wrapped his hand around my wrist and pulled my away from the door, the handle slipping from my weak grasp.

"No." He whispered into my hair as he pulled my closed, our bodies pressed closer than ever imaginable.

I felt drops on my shoulder. He was crying. Really crying. I stood there, doing nothing, Phil's arms wrapped around me and him crying silently in my ear.

"Don't go..." He whispered, "this doesn't mean anything. We can feel whatever we want."

"You're too bright for me." I said, pulling away from his warm embrace.

"And opposites attract." He replied, tears still slipping down his cheek.

"We're not compatible." I hissed.

And this time he didn't respond. Instead he looked at his feet, his hands in his pockets and eyes blinking furiously. I took this as my chance and opened the door, escaping into the stairwell before flying towards the exit and running out into the bitter cold outside, leaving pretty boy alone.

\---  
(A/N) idk what I'm doing with this but you guys seem to like it?


	17. seventeen

{ seventeen - falling apart }  
[ dan howell ]

I had three problems with this week:

\- Phil Lester  
\- Pretty Boy  
\- Philip

Oh yes, all the same thing, just worded differently and forever stuck in my brain.

Because I fucked it all up.

Right down to the very happiness Phil had given to me over the past few weeks, I had messed it all up.

Worse, I hadn't seen him or made any attempt to see him since it happened. I'm such a pansy, a scaredy cat, afraid to get hurt and mess everything up more than it already is.

I don't know if Phil kept catching the bus or not. I made sure I caught the later 7:10pm bus rather the 6:20pm that I usually got. Better home later than encountering all of my problems.

There was no doubting I was totally and utterly in love with Phil Lester, but how am I supposed to say that after I've spilled my entire soul in front of him before proceeding to say we'll never work. Like, that's fucked up. I'm fucked up and I fucked up anything I thought possible with him.

Slowly around me the world was falling to pieces like shattering glass and someone was desperately trying to keep it together, but they couldn't.

Each night included another lot of tear stains on my bedsheets and pillows. Each morning consisted of red eyes and blotchy cheeks. Each day contained headaches and rushing thoughts of the boy keeping me here. Each and every second of my brain reminding me of everything I said.

I was on my way to the bus stop. It was 6:50pm, so I had plenty of time to get there. And of course, it wouldn't be a normal day without pretty boy taunting my thoughts and tugging at my heartstrings. I wasn't going to have a panic attack here. I wasn't going to be that weird guy walking along crying to himself.

But it all got so much worse when I turned the corner, slamming right into a body with bright blue eyes, pale skin and raven feather hair.

Philip Fucking Lester.

"No." I said immediately, turning away. I couldn't do this now. I couldn't do this ever. 

"Dan." His voice cracked but he made no attempt to stop me walking away. But like the weakling I am, I turned back around to face him.

Phil is the kind of person you forgot how much you miss and how beautiful they are in person. You forgot how his lips curve slightly into a small smile before he laughs. You forget how his eyes sparkle, even in the darkest of light. You forgot how simply amazing he is in general.

My thoughts of his face would never suffice for seeing it right in front of me.

"Phil." I whispered back to him, my breath creating a small puff of fog in the biting cold air.

"Daniel. I missed you." He said simply, and that's when I fell apart right in front of him.

\---  
(A/N) why is my writing so crappy :(


	18. eighteen

{ eighteen - you }  
[ dan howell ]

I was crying. I was gripping on Phil Lester, pretty boy, like he was the only thing keeping me alive. Maybe he was the only thing keeping all my heartstrings from snapping right now. Maybe he was the only thing that refused to let my world fall apart around me and allow me to fall into that oblivion.

I was crying all the while drifting into the peaceful state of mind where Phil's arms never leave me. He played with my hair while I kept crying. I liked that. It was relaxing. I liked pretty boy. He was relaxing.

"Hey, you're okay. You're okay." He whispered into my ear. It didn't feel okay but Phil made it okay. Phil made everything okay. He made me okay. I was okay. 

I sniffled and pulled slightly away from Phil so I could see his face. He was really pretty. Even in the dark I could make out the curve of his eyelashes and the lines of his mouth. My eyes traced every inch of his face, memorising it like I could lose him any second.

"You're so.. Fragile." Pretty boy giggled brushing tears off my cheeks like they were nothing but flecks of dust. I felt the heat rushing to my already blotchy cheeks.

And then the sudden urge to kiss him overcame me. That was the worst part. I'd just seen him after a week of torturing myself with thoughts and now I was sobbing in his arms and having an overwhelming wish to press my lips to his.

"Dan." He said looking me in the eyes. I could stare at his all day.

"Yes?" I replied, my voice croaky and disgusting from the crying. I hated it when I sounded like this. I sounded so weak.

"Did you mean what you said?" He mumbled looking down at his feet as if he was disappointed of what he said.

I almost said no immediately but that wasn't entirely true. I didn't know if what I said meant. Whether or not I actually said those things truthfully.

"I don't know.." I whispered back trying to step out of his embrace. This isn't going to happen.

And that's when Phil pulled me back to him and leaned in closer than ever, the tips of our noses touching and the fog from our breath mingling.

I felt my heart speed up.

Above us I could sense the stars twinkling and dancing. I imagined what myself and Phil must look like from up there. Two boys finally confessing their love to each other.

"Dan Howell, I'm not going to let you run away from me again," he gave me a small smile, his eyes sparkling in the darkness.

I leaned closer, entangling my hands in his hair and letting his arms fall around my waist. 'Kiss me.' I thought, but my wish wasn't granted. Instead, he did something even more absurd. Something that took the breath out of my lungs and almost made me have a fucking heart attack.

"I love you."

\---  
(A/N) can someone actually kill my writing? I really don't like it


	19. nineteen

{ nineteen - i love you too }  
[ dan howell ]

I never thought I was gay. It was never a thought that crossed my mind. I didn't wake up one morning and think 'oh snap, I'm gay'. Or I didn't suddenly kiss a boy and realise 'well, I just hardcore made out with a guy and I really liked it. Damn, I'm so gay.' The whole things sort of just came to me. I felt gay. It was kind of like an intuition. I didn't have to go through any elaborate problem solving to figure it out, it was always kind of just... there.

It was only until Phil Lester that I woke up one morning and said to myself 'oh snap, I'm gay.' And even then I was surprised to have myself think that. I was so damn head over heels with Phil Lester that if I wasn't gay, I had no idea what I was.

And now I was standing here on the corner of the road, underneath the twinkling stars and ugly artificial lights from the lampposts, in love more than a single person can get. I was standing here, my hands entangled in pretty boys' night sky hair and staring into his blue eyes, getting lost in their colour and thinking about how he reminded me of the day. How he reminded me of how everything will be okay. How we reminded me that there is always a rainbow after a hurricane. How he reminded me to keep that smile on my face. How he reminded me to be happy. How he reminded me to be everything I thought I couldn't ever be. How he reminded me to live. How he reminded me to be me. 

And I didn't know what to say. I couldn't form words. I couldn't say anything to the boy that saved my life and pulled me out of whatever abyss I was floating in and brought me back to life. The boy who dragged me back to earth so I could truly see beauty. So I could realise down here is better than getting lost among the stars. Because if you get too distracted, you lose yourself, your passions, your meaning, your soul, you. You lose you if you drift too far, and Phil was the rope that pulled me back. That showed me that it'll be okay. And now I couldn't even utter a small thank you or I love you too. 

So I kissed him. And he didn't pull away. I felt myself melting into the kiss. 'Like chocolate.' I thought. I was melting in his arms like chocolate. He was warm. He tasted like peppermint and... well him. He was warm. He was oh so warm. He reminded me of a fireplace. He pulled away for a breath and I rushed for more. We kissed again and this time he tasted sweeter. Like peppermint with too much sugar, and I loved it. 

I didn't know what I was doing. I'd never kissed anyone. Pretty boy was my first, and he obviously knew what he was doing. He guided the kiss, carefully and slowly like it was something precious and tangible and it could break if pressed to hard. 

I don't care what this was or what this all meant, but whatever I had with Phil I fucking loved and I didn't plan on giving it away any time soon.

We pulled away again and I got lost in his eyes again. I opened my mouth to say something, but he shushed me before I could even say what I wanted to say.

"You already said it back," he whispered, sweeping me up in his arms with one of those smiles. I felt so comfortable here, with him, my lips tingling with an electricity words can never explain and the words I never had to say on my mind.

'I love you too, Phil Lester, my pretty boy, my saviour and the one that dragged me from the stars. I love you to forever and back and I'll never let go.' I thought, as he turned around and trudged back to the bus stop, a new jump in his step, gleam in his eyes and glow in his cheeks.

"I love you too." I ushered back finally and let my head fall back to look at the stars, saying goodbye to the place I found myself lost in before I found Phil.

\---   
(A/N) okay this is okaaaay I'm actually quite happy with it not gonna lie


	20. finito

AND THAT MY FRIENDS IS WHERE IT ENDS.

of course their story will continue through forever in time, but this part of the story, this portion, the part I took and put into words and posted on the Internet, is over. definitely, the two will grow and change and there will be hardships and troubles they'll have to get over, but I don't need to go through all that. I feel like this is where I leave the Dan Howell and Phil Lester from the universe I put into a book for now and let their story continue without me. it was their story from the beginning, I just put it into words.

you will never understand how grateful and amazed at all of your support on pretty boy. from my friends irl ( you know who you are ) to all of you unknown, beautiful people out there that took time out of your life to read something I wrote. 

so, like any cheesy person ( I am quite the cheesy person ) I dedicate this book to each and every one of you that never failed to surprise me. all of you that were always encouraging me to write more, to encourage me, to pull me out of the self-doubt I found myself drowning in. you're all beautiful and I love all of you. 

so this is where the story ends. my first book. the first part of the universe I've created. thank you. thank you all so much and thank you to the Dan and Phil in this book. I hope you two get through alright and I hope you have a good rest of your day/night wherever you are in the world. 

finito.


End file.
